


Forgetting the Milk

by BespokeSmut



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom
Genre: Cumberbatch, Established Relationship, F/M, cumbersmut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BespokeSmut/pseuds/BespokeSmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wouldn't like him when he's angry...or maybe you would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgetting the Milk

He was in a bad mood when he got home. I heard the front door slam open and closed again, then the sound of his messenger bag dropping heavily in the hall. I glanced up from where I was sitting, reading on the sofa, as he passed through on the way to the kitchen.

“Hey,” I said, and he grunted something that sounded vaguely like a greeting in return. I didn’t call him on it. We were both tired, him from a long commute to shoot the Hollow Crown in between press for his films, me from a particularly taxing month at work. I was just looking back down at my book when he interrupted me again.

“We’re out of milk,” he yelled from the kitchen.

“Sorry,” I called back into the other room, “I didn’t have the energy to stop at the store on the way home. I think there’s a carton of soy milk somewhere in the cupboard if that will do.” 

“I wanted milk!” he growled grumpily.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, “you’ll just have to make do.”

I heard more grumbling, and some pans crashing around in the kitchen. 

“Are we out of beans too? I’m just trying to make something to eat after a long day out in the cold, and we don’t seem to have even the most basic supplies here…” he called in my direction with annoyance.

Now I was getting annoyed too. I was tired, and just wanted to enjoy my book with a glass of wine after a long day. Pulling myself off the sofa, I walked into the kitchen. I nearly tripped over the sweatshirt and t-shirt Ben had pulled off on his way in, leaving them puddled on the floor. “Great,” I thought, “more male-pattern blindness.” I opened the cupboard, grabbed a can of beans from exactly where they always are, and slammed them on the counter next to him harder than I had intended.

“I know it’s exhausting to be on set all day, but play nice – I had a hard day too.”

Usually apologetic for snapping, Ben surprised me by biting back, “Yes, because you were outside in the rain all day, covered in 4 stone of heavy metal armour and on the back of a belligerent beast without the slightest interest in behaving.”

While I stood in stunned silence, he continued “I don’t think it’s too much to ask that there’s bloody milk in the fridge when I come home, it’s not like I’m asking for a warm meal, though lord knows that would be a reasonable thing for a man to expect.”

Annoyance turning to anger, I found my voice and snapped back, “I think you’re forgetting yourself, your majesty – you’re not the king of England in this house. So here are your bloody beans, and there’s your damn bread, and you can make your own fucking beans and toast, Lord Cumberbatch!”

I started to push past him towards the breadbox, but as I reached across the counter he suddenly grabbed my wrist, pinning it to the cupboard above my head, and spinning me to face him in the process. There was a sudden glimmer in his eye, part anger, part amusement…and part lust. 

“What did you call me?” he asked in a soft, menacing purr.

I was suddenly aware of how hard my heart was beating, and how close Ben’s naked chest and arms were. I was still angry, but felt a little thrill of fear and excitement. I drew myself up to my full height and looked him squarely in the eye.

“Your majesty,” I said, with as much bravado as I could muster with one hand pinned above my head.

“And what was it you wanted to impress upon his majesty?” he asked. His voice and expression were impervious, but I could spot a grin fighting at the edge of his jaw.

“That his majesty has forgotten where he is, and that he is no longer the most important person in the room.” 

A series of imperceptible thoughts and emotions seemed to flash through those eyes, dark and hooded below his stern brows. The moment stretched, tense, as I felt my chest rise and fall, partly in outrage, but mostly now from anticipation of what might happen next. I saw the vein at his temple pulsing. My eyes scanned his face as I tried to read his expression. I twitched ever so slightly, trying to adjust my arm which was starting to ache, and his eyes came back into focus, sharpening. He seemed to make a decision. 

He leaned in, his rough cheek brushing against mine as he brought his mouth close to my ear and spoke in a low, dangerous voice, “maybe it’s you who needs to be reminded who is in control.”

And with that, I felt his soft mouth trace the arc of my neck, his stubble burning a path of heat behind. I moaned, grabbing the back of his neck with my free hand and arching against him. He wrapped his left arm around my waist and lifted me onto the counter-top, his right hand still pinning my wrist above my head, his lips never leaving my collarbone. He found the spot below my left ear that seems connected directly to the heat between my legs, sucking and swirling his tongue against my skin, as I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him towards me. 

I scrabbled to pull his lips up to mine, needing to taste him too. I dipped my head and tried to lift his chin. Without stopping his attention to my neck, he wrapped his free hand in my hair and pulled back firmly. A sudden shock ran through my scalp, electricity tingling down through my skin. It was a delicious warning – I could move my head, but not without permission – or pain. I moaned again, and felt an answering groan against my skin.

“Unbutton your shirt,” he murmured in my ear, softly but firmly. I did. It was an order of convenience, perhaps – his hands were both occupied – but it made me feel unexpectedly vulnerable to obey. His body pressed me against the counter, and I couldn’t look down, only feel my way down the front of the oxford shirt I was wearing. Unfastening one button at a time, I felt the cool air hit my skin, sending a shiver across my naked breasts. 

He growled approvingly, watching.

“So sweet,” he whispered. “Richard would eat you alive.”

And with that he bent his head again, and I let my head fall back against the cupboard while he tasted me. I could feel his hips starting to press rhythmically against the edge of the counter, and I pulled his torso into me again, trying to relieve the pressure building between my legs. It wasn’t enough. I tried to dip my head again, enjoying the sensation of being pulled back by his firm hand still tangled in my hair, but also desperate for more.

“Please,” I begged, “please, I need to kiss you.”

If he heard me, he didn’t respond. My free hand raked against his back, trying to pull his bare chest against me, my whole body craving his skin, his warmth. His mouth was hot, tracing devious patterns across the sensitive skin, avoiding the nipple, before suckling, biting, nipping, and then beginning the exquisite torment all over again. Running my fingers through his hair, I arched towards him, feeling desperate for more contact. Then I remembered Ben had a few weak spots of his own I could still exploit. 

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I pulled his head back and met his eyes. For a moment, everything stopped. And then suddenly his mouth was on mine, no longer controlled but savage, hungry. Dropping my wrist, he grasped my jaw in his palm. I felt like he might consume me, and decided it would be worth it.

We were both fumbling now, frantic, my hands on his belt-buckle, the button of his jeans. I felt his hand reach inside my yoga pants and cup my sex with a groan. I shifted, lifting my hips so she could pull them down and off, feeling the cold marble counter against my bare ass. I reached inside his pants and felt the velvet of his hard cock pulse and twitch against my hand. His teeth grated against my jaw. My mouth watered. I needed to taste him.

I pushed him back across the narrow aisle and against the kitchen island. In a single movement I yanked his jeans and briefs down, and kneeled on the tile floor. Holding him in my hand, I licked my lips and gazed up to see him staring approvingly back with a little smile on his face. 

“What were you saying about not being here to serve me, dar—“ he started, biting back the last word on a gasp as I took him in my mouth and started to repay his earlier torture. The sounds of his appreciative moans sent shivers through me and I could feel my sex growing slicker in anticipation. I savored his smell, his taste, musky and familiar, as I ran my nails up the backs of his thighs. He stroked my hair, caressed my cheek, momentarily forgetting his efforts to subdue me. 

Then I felt him trying to pull me back up and it was his turn to beg.

“Please,” he hissed, “please, I need you….you need to stop or I, oh god…yes…”

When I didn’t stop, his grip on my shoulders got tighter, fingers digging in. I felt the muscles in his abdomen contract as his self-control slipped away. And then, suddenly, his hand was in my hair again, pulling me away. He sank to the floor and pulled me down with him. Lying on my back, he held himself inches above me as he met my eyes with a wicked grin.

“Nice try, darling,” he murmured, “you almost had me.”

I struggled to pull him closer, wrapping one leg around his hip. He slipped his hand between my thighs and found my slick heat. I felt my hips rolling towards the delicious sensations his fingers were providing as they stroked and probed my waiting sex.

“More,” I moaned, “I need you inside me.” He finally complied, pressing himself into me slowly at first, and then all at once so that I gasped. I caught his lower lip between my teeth and bit down lightly, and he answered with a groan. Slowly he pulled himself out again as I clutched at his back, and gripped his hips with my thighs, eager to pull him back inside me. As he pushed forward again, our mouths met, and I hungrily tasted the inside of his mouth, feeling his tongue answer back, feeling his answering moan, and wanting him everywhere at once.

Without losing contact, I maneuvered myself so I sat astride him, and looked down for a moment at the strong, smooth muscles twitching in his chest. His eyes were dark again, but this time with arousal and need. I lifted my hips until just the head of his beautiful cock was inside me and held his eyes.

“What were you saying about belligerent beasts?” I asked. 

“They need to be broken,” he answered, pulling me back onto him as he lifted his hips with an impudent twist.

I groaned, and began to rock myself on him. Closing my eyes, I felt his hands on my breasts, my ass, my hips, my clit. Now rough, now soft, he touched and caressed and pinched until my skin was humming with electricity. Back and forth, up and down, I set the rhythm I needed, and he held on, meeting me thrust for thrust. Leaning over him, I felt my breasts flatten against his hard chest. I buried my face in his neck, breathing him in, and feeling his pulse jump as I bit his collarbone to stifle my moans. From beneath me, I felt him take over, raising his hips again and again to thrust inside me, finding the angle that gave my clit the pressure it needed. There was nothing now, except the warmth and smell of his skin against me, his groans in my ear, and the delicious pleasure between my legs, pressure building to an almost unbearable, exquisite agony.

“Come for me, darling” he moaned in a voice tight with the effort of maintaining control, and I did, waves of pleasure breaking through my body, shaking, contracting around his hardness over and over again. My mouth bit down harder on his shoulder, and I felt him shudder, felt his body stiffen beneath me, and opened my eyes in time to watch him take his pleasure. As I returned to my body, I watched him momentarily leave his, hips jerking, his beautiful face contorted in pleasure and relief. I wrapped myself around him as we both shuddered again, breathing hard. 

The room came back into focus, the tiles hard beneath us, and the chill of the cool air sending goosebumps across my damp back. He hugged me back, warming me, kissing my lips, my cheeks, my nose, and my eyes.

“I’m sorry I snapped,” he sighed. “Being Lord Cumberbatch, you know – it’s not always as much fun as it sounds.”

“I know,” I whispered, kissing him softly back, and laying my head against his chest to listen to his slowing heartbeat.

“Hungry?” I asked after a minute, remembering the forgotten beans and toast.

“Starving,” he responded.

I started to push myself up to make him something – he’d certainly earned it – but he pulled me back down to the floor with a wicked grin.

“That’s not what I meant,” he smiled, laying me against the floor and spreading my thighs…


End file.
